Wingless
by lovestowrite238
Summary: One long second, Stiles had wings. And then the world, as he knew it, came crashing on him. He couldn't do anything but accept his fate, because not a single soul in this world could save him, except perhaps for Scott.
1. Chapter 1

**Wingless**

 _One long second, Stiles had wings. And then the world, as he knew it, came crashing on him. He couldn't do anything but accept his fate, because not a single soul in this world could save him, perhaps maybe Scott._

This story takes place right after season 3B, ignoring Derek's last scene and focuses on Scott's friendship with Stiles. Plenty of hurt/comfort and angst.

 **Chapter One**

The loud, cracking sound came from the second floor of the old shoe factory and shocked me to my core. I looked up startled as I hadn't expected this sound to disturb the peace in this abandoned building at all. Pigeons and other birds shook up from their winter stupor and flew away, shattering feathers all over, while I sprung into cautious modus immediately, wondering what the hell was going on. I stood in the muddy, winter gardens behind the factory, looking up as my senses automatically followed the direction of the sound. When I found its source, my heart went icy cold and all of my wolfness alerted me so quickly I could actually feel every single hair on my body rising up.

I witnessed how Stiles went flying backwards through a rain of glass, shattering what was left of that already broken window in his descent. Over the ledge of the second story floor he went, past the small balcony that was too worn to hold a human being, past the stone walls that were so thick they all most of the factory's noise when it was still active, falling towards the few trees and the many snow-covered former flowerbeds that would capture and grasp his body after his fall ended.

It almost felt as if time stood still. I watched him fly and then I heard the crash when he stopped descending. That crash, oh my god, I can still hear it, over and over again. It sounded like hell in my ears and I couldn't bear to relive it but I did nonetheless, every single time I shut my eyes for weeks after this day. I felt nauseated during every single recap, hated myself for not moving forward, for not catching him on time.

I couldn't see his face, I couldn't hear a single cry escaping his lips. There was nothing but that horrid crashing sound and that eternal, horrific silence. I saw a combination of flailing arms and legs and a head that bobbed before he vanished from my sight. The sickening thud of that falling body, of my best friend on the verge of death, cut into my heart.

There were two great fears in my life and this was one of them. My first nightmare involved my mother and my excruciating, everlasting anxiety to lose her because I had been bitten by a werewolf. Every single day I prayed none of my natural enemies would damage her, use her against me. The other fear, maybe even greater than my mother's loss because this risk was far greater, was to lose Stiles. He was human, made of flesh and bones, unable to heal himself. Yet he often went through the same risks as I did, probably even worse. He wasn't able to cure himself, he wasn't equipped to deal with situations like this. Yet he was always by my side, protecting me just as much as I was protecting him.

He's my best friend and I can't bear to live my life without him. I have already lost Allison, I don't want to lose him too.

'Stiles.' His name escaped my lips soft. Then I heard a horrible cry, something roaring so hard that it startled me for the second time that day. I then realized that it was my own voice that I heard, but that couldn't possibly be. This couldn't be my voice shouting with a sound so ragged, so strong that it deafened my own ears. Yet it must have been, there was nobody else around. We had headed out alone to the factory on a stupid whim, wanting to hang around like we used to do a long time ago. We both loved this place, sitting peacefully at the edge of Beacon Hills.

When we were kids, after his mother had died, Stiles had taken a liking to this place, visiting it often because it was tranquil and had a friendly feeling to it. He used to ride his bike here and I would often follow him from a safe distance, wondering where my best friend went when he wasn't with me. I remembered how, at one point, he just sat there on one of the stone benches outside in the gardens, not turning around, saying, 'I know you're there, Scott. You'd better sit down next to me then. Don't worry, I won't bite.'

He was still in mourning then, after his mother's passing, and I was just an awkward kid with no other friends who didn't know what to do or say to his best friend who had just lost the most important person in his life. I sat down next to him without so much as a hug and waited for him to speak.

At one point he turned half towards me, smiled and said, 'If there are ghosts here, they are probably looking down at us right now, wondering why two silly little kids chose this strange place to talk, don't you think?'

'There are no ghosts here,' I replied. 'Nobody ever died here.'

'Are you sure about that?'

I felt a chill run down my spine. 'Of course. This was just a stupid shoe factory, remember?'

'Perhaps someone has been killed while being stuck in the Shoe Making Machine,' he quipped, 'maybe someone out there is wearing a human instead of a shoe. You do know that human skin is tough as leather, don't you?'

'A new form of cannibalism?' I grinned.

He punched me in the ribs and then he burst into tears, just like that. I held him in my arms and told him I was sorry about his mom and didn't know what to say or do. He let himself be held, wiped his eyes and said, 'don't say anything, just remind me now and then of this moment.'

We kept on riding our bikes towards this place, without anyone else ever knowing about it. Later, we replaced our bikes with his battered old jeep with a radio that hardly ever worked. To keep Stiles from singing stupid songs, I started bawling myself until he cried for mercy and begged for someone to please end his misery.

The fact that nobody knew about this place, made me want to scream out loud right now. This was _our_ place, _our_ little secret, the place where he took me after we both started healing when the Nogitsune was out of his mind and Allison out of our lives. We cried here for hours, staring into nothingness, saying not a single word because we didn't have to. I had lost her but I had not lost him and he had not lost his mind or his life. That moment where he dropped to the floor in our school's hallway, my heart stood still too because I thought that we had killed him.

Now, this place – _our_ place – has killed him.

I grabbed my smartphone as I started running towards him, knowing instantly that it wouldn't be of any use because we could never use our phones here and had long ago given up on that. And even if I had been able to make the call, I knew it would probably be too late. No one could ever survive a fall like that. My ears rung of my own growls, my legs carried me as fast as they could but it already felt like it was too late.

'Oh god, somebody help,' I heard someone say and realized I was the one speaking. I said it out loud now and I could hear prayers escape my lips as I crossed the small patch of snow-covered grass. I was at his side. My voice sounded restrained and the cry for help escaped the depths of my throat and surged through the humid air, followed by a growl that seemed to come from somewhere I hadn't even known I possessed. My wolf sounds carried miles away.

'Somebody help. Somebody, someone please help!' But I realized once more that nobody would come to our aid, because there was no one around. All I saw, was that broken body lying on the ground. Stiles's face was ghastly pale and covered by a blanket of pain, so eminently present on his skin that it tore my heart apart. He still held his phone in his hand, clutched between his long fingers, as if he was planning to text someone in his unconsciousness. I saw blood, so much blood. His head was tilted to the side, his eyelashes were closed. His ankle was broken, I could tell that from the bone sticking out from the skin, pushing above his sock. My stomach turned at the sight of it and I cursed myself for being nauseated. I had seen so much but that broken ankle actually made me sick to the stomach. I couldn't help but think of all the rest of him that could be hurt. Where did all that blood come from? My hands roamed over his chest, tearing at the fabric, trying to fight against that scent that protruded my nostrils and made me want to look away.

I heard his heartbeat. Oh my god, I heard it. He was still breathing, even if he wouldn't move or stir, he was breathing. That was the most important thing right now, the fact that he was alive. All the rest we could mend, I hoped. I gently touched his forehead and laid my hand against his cheek, feeling the cold sweat on his skin. That could not be good, I knew and I didn't know what to do. I wasn't exactly doctor's material. I could heal myself but I couldn't heal others. Oh god, what the hell happened just now?

He moaned very lightly and then he became horribly quiet. I placed my hand on his chest and felt the pain radiating from underneath his skin. I pushed back my fears, my anxiety and focused my breathing. He needed me and I would be the strong one and help him. I would protect him as part of my pack, as my brother.

'Somebody!' I shouted for the third time and this time, oh god, I felt that someone was coming. We were no longer alone. My heart leapt. I cried out of pure joy, even though the moment would last for just a second. It was replaced immediately by an excruciating fear, a sense that both of us were on the verge of death.

I looked up at the window through which he had come crashing through.

We were not alone.

To be continued


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

I looked up and saw the shadow move inside the building while an enormous rage built inside of me when I realized Stiles had not fallen. He had been pushed. Who had done this? Who had dared to shove Stiles out of the window? Who had caused his possible death? I cringed at the word death but that was the reality we were in.

'Let them go to hell,' I muttered and removed my jacket which I lay over Stiles' icy cold body, knowing I need to get him inside quickly before he would die of hypothermia instead of his injuries. While I concentrated on Stiles' situation I tried to figure out a way of getting him out of this open, vulnerable place and into safety but I knew I could kill him if I moved him. My mother always said you should never move people with possible back or neck injuries.

I was trapped between taking care of my best friend and trying to find out what the hell was going on inside that building and risking getting him and myself hurt for the second time. The noise inside became harder, hoarser and it was a horrible, ghastly sound that rung my ears for the second time that day.

The decision what to do first was taken away from me. I heard a hoarse grown coming from inside the building. I rose and stared at the intruder that rushed out towards me, knocking me off my feet and throwing me on the ground with the force of an Alpha. Stiles' attacker was a newcomer, a werewolf I had never met before. He was tall, twice my size and enormously aggressive. He reminded me of Boyd but was sturdier built and even more aggressive than he had been. As we rolled through the snow, I felt the winter's cold go through my entire body. I was unprotected for the cold, causing my fingers to numb up quickly.

The thought of Stiles lying there half dead gave me strength to fight off his attacker. The mere idea that my best friend was dying, which I was convinced of by now, gave me wings, power and everything I needed to knock the stranger out quickly. In my anger I managed to roll on top of the enemy, to push my hands against his face, while shapeshifting. My claws pushed through, my eyes glowed fiercely and I growled, bearing my fangs. He must have picked up my scent earlier, must have realized an Alpha was in his vicinity, yet he had not cared.

I was furious, enraged, upset, ready to kill. But I never killed, refused to do so. For the first time in my life though, I was really, really eager to do so. I saw nothing in my blind rage, my thoughts with Stiles lying possibly dead in that cold, winter's garden, his eyes never opening again. He lay there before the sight of that old shoe factory he had loved so much. This place had become the death of him.

I saw blood red and clawed at the stranger, only to be stopped by an excruciating growl escaping the wolf's mouth. I took deep breaths and controlled myself, thinking of what Stiles would do in my situation. He would tell me not get angry, to control myself and turn into a true warrior, the Alpha I would like to become. And he would make sure that everyone was safe first, like he did when he was possessed, even though he had been dying then too. That was my task now. I had to remain calm, had to stop this and take care of Stiles, because there was no one else to look after him. Thousands of my mother's stories popped into my head, I could recount gory details of wounds being bandaged, of broken ankles being set. I could do this, because it might ultimately save his life.

As we rolled over the floor, I saw Stiles lying there deadly still in the exact same position and I knew he was slipping away. I didn't hear a single sound except the growling and battling of two werewolves. My enemy pushed himself on top of me and used his weight to pin me to the ground, trying to break both of my hands. I cried out and then I freed my hands and clawed into his chest. He screamed and let go, squealing as my long nails dug through skin and muscle, leaving my markings there. I broke his leg with one aimed kick. Then I rolled him off me, picked up a rock and knocked him out. He fell without a single sound, next to Stiles' body, surrounded by glass.

'That was for Stiles,' I hissed as he remained down and kicked him against the ribs for good matter. He would live.

I crawled up, heaving and crawling towards Stiles. I feared what I would find: Stiles near death or completely gone. The thought of losing my friend was choking me. I was so very, horrible afraid. The adrenaline rush escaped me as I fell to my knees by my friend's side and frantically touched his throat.

'Stiles,' I whispered gently, 'come on, man. Stiles, talk to me.'

He wouldn't speak to me of course, because he was still completely out of it. But at least there was a heartbeat and a very shallow breath that escaped through his blue lips. Why the hell were his lips this blue? Frantically I tried my smartphone again and then, for trying, his and cursed the day that Stiles had decided to like this place so much.

'Come one,' I muttered to myself, 'you can do this, you have to do this.'

The jeep was a five minute walk away, resting behind the crooked fences of this place. I calculated how much time it would take me to get there, get him in the jeep and drive off. That didn't sound too bad. I could do that. I could lift him into my arms, carry him to the car and get out of here.

And I would kill him by the time we made it out there. Only by lifting him, I could snap his neck, get his broken ribs to protrude his organs. 'Oh my god,' I muttered as my hands followed the trail of his body, stopping at yet another bone fragment sticking out of his left wrist. I touched the back of his neck, legs, feet and good ankle with closed eyes and tried to vision his bones. His neck wasn't broken, his back wasn't broken, his legs seemed in good condition. He had at least two broken ribs that would hurt like hell if he ever woke up.

And there was the blood. I bit my lip when I pulled up his already torn hoodie with the huge gash running through it and found the source of all the blood. A large piece of glass rested embedded in his chest, near his left shoulder. It was pushed deep through flesh, muscle and skin. I couldn't tell what damage this could cause and cursed myself for not listening to my mother's endless gruesome patient stories.  
Good thing he was out of it, I thought as I knew that any movement would send him into a world of hellish pain. And moving him was exactly what I was now planning to do. Apart from the injuries, his body felt cold to the core, frozen after lying nearly ten minutes on the icy cold ground. The only place to go was the hospital.

I shut my eyes briefly and willed myself to listen to the sensible voice in my head that always told me what to do when I needed help. I was strong, I was an Alpha and Stiles would kick my ass for hesitating for too long. 'Move me,' he would say, 'who cares about a little bit of pain when you're on the verge of hypothermia?'

I took his ice cold hands in mine and tried to warm them up. And then I decided. It was almost as if I could hear Allison's voice inside my head, urging me to get a move on. 'You know what to do.' I could almost hear her say it. Calm came over me.  
I nodded to myself, braced myself and then I moved both arms underneath Stiles' body and lifted him up, gently but steadily. The second I touched the side of Stiles's chest where he had at least a few broken ribs, he moved. He groaned loudly, fighting against that which was causing him this pain. Even the softest touch had pulled him out of his stupor, directly into the world of pain, into pure panic. For a second I felt joy he would react like this, but that was over soon.

To my astonishment he was not in shock. He was vividly awake in my arms and experienced the pain clearly. I immediately laid him down again, shocked by his eyes that flung open and proved this horrible pain he was in. He didn't have to tell me, I sensed it through the touch of my hand against his good wrist. He was on the verge of panic and I knew I had to soothe him in order to save him.

'Stiles, stop it,' I said firmly, grabbing his hand as he frantically tried to get up and escape my grip, his eyes unfocused, shedding tears of pain and fear. 'Stiles, it's me! It's Scott. Listen to me, focus on my voice.'

I felt extreme guilt surge through me when I realized I had been standing out here, staring into nothingness, dreaming and crying over Allison when he was up there, fighting the enemy I hadn't even scented because I had been too preoccupied. I should have been the one up there, I could heal. He felt everything.

'I know it's you,' he groaned, his face distressed. 'Where is he?'

'Out cold,' I gritted through my teeth, gazing quickly at the newcomer who lay in human form out cold in the snow. 'He won't bother you again.'

'He came out of nowhere, must have been living there –' Stiles stopped as every single word seemed to hurt like hell. He tried to take deep breaths but couldn't. 'I'm so cold.'

He seemed to realize then that he was seriously hurt, his good hand automatically reached for his shoulder. 'What is this?'

'Glass,' I said, 'don't touch it.'

His eyes seemed to change colour right there and then. Pure panic rose through his chest, making him fight me. 'Get it out.'

'I can't, Stiles. I'm taking you to a hospital.'

'Scott, please, get it out. Get it out!' He stared panicking for real, grasping my hand tight. I could feel his nails dig into my skin, his good arm using so much force it actually startled me.

'Stiles, calm down. You need surgery.'

'No, no, no – something's wrong. Scott, get it out. Get it out of me.' His voice sounded raw and pure, I hardly recognized it. My best friend was aching so much I felt the pain myself. I took his hand into mine and forced myself to take over his pain, but I knew I couldn't take it all. He calmed down immediately, forcing his breathing to a regular, steady pace. When he was calmer, I forced him to look me in the eyes.

'It will come out, but not now and not here. I am going to lift you up again and take you to the jeep and drive you to a hospital, alright? But I won't lie to you, Stiles. This is going to hurt like hell, okay? You have to hold on, there is no other way of getting you out of here. I can't call anyone and you are too cold for your own good already. Your body is hypothermic, you are losing too much heat and I don't know how long you can last like this. I can't leave you alone here either. We are on our own. Do you understand what I'm saying?'

Stiles gritted his teeth and nodded. 'Do it.'

I nodded, my heart breaking.

'No. Wait.'

I looked up, shocked.

'Bind my wrist and ankle. They're broken, aren't they? I can feel the bones shove against each other.'

I looked around.

'My T-shirt, take parts of my T-shirt,' he ordered. Instead of taking his, I tore apart my own and used the fabric to bind his wrist and ankle, using his instructions.

'How do you know about this stuff?' I asked in awe as I listed to his ragged breaths while ordering me around. He seemed vivid for a while and I knew the adrenaline rush had set in. I gazed over my shoulder at Stiles' attacker, still out cold and prayed he would stay like that until we were gone. I couldn't care less about him.

Snow fell down on us again. I took in Stiles' still body that no longer shivered and knew he was going into hypothermia. We needed to go now.

My friend knew what had to be done. I had to lift him off the ground and bring him to a hospital where he would have to go surgery to get that piece of glass out of his chest and his ankle and wrist set. If he made it that far.

'There we go,' I said soothingly as I redid what I had done earlier and lifted him up as gently as I could. His head rested against my chest and he allowed me to carry him like a hunter would carry a fallen deer. My arms balanced his weight gently but every single move I made, sent him straight to hell.

I was responsible for that hell and it killed me.

to be continued


	3. Chapter 3

Thank you for reading! Reviews are very much appreciated. This is my first Teen Wolf fanfiction and I am really curious to hear what you think about it. Thanks :)

 **Chapter Three**

For once, I wished my friend would lose consciousness. Stiles's eyes blinked as he struggled with the horrible, blinding pain that haunted him with every move or gesture. He was in so much pain that tears sprung in my eyes by the sight of his struggle with it. He grasped my arm tightly and I could feel his nails claw into my fingers. It was good, because it was a sign of him being alive. I forced my sympathy to the back of my mind and tried to switch into warrior mode. The first member of my pack needed me and I wouldn't fail. But I couldn't not listen. I couldn't go into that part of my head where I went when he was lying bound in our living room with a tape over his mouth. I had felt sympathy then but not enough to allow me to make mistakes. Here, I felt as if every single thing I did, was a possible mistake. Every groan that Stiles made cut right through me. He kept a brave face and his eyes were closed and he felt every single rock and pebble underneath my feet.

Finally, after what seemed an eternity, we reached the jeep. As I jumbled with his body and opening the door, he lost his self-control and cried out in pure pain. I tried to ignore it but couldn't. An icy cold hand squeezed my heart and all my anger and frustration came out. I lifted my head to the skies and cried, alongside Stiles who did the same. Finally I managed to open the passenger door and gently lifted him inside into sitting position. He closed his eyes and said nothing more then and I begged that he was unconscious, but he wasn't. His body was almost rigid. He clenched his teeth and bit away his pain with drops of sweat forming on his forehead. When he opened his eyes, they were large and feverish. This was not good.

I rummaged through his trunk to find something I could use to warm him up and came back with an old blanket that smelt like a million cats had peed on it. Stiles grinned, 'Reminds me of picnics.' And allowed me to place it over him. I turned the heating on and left his seatbelt off out of fear it would push the shard of glass deeper into his chest.

I fumbled with the keys, trying to shove them in with my frozen fingers and started the jeep after three attempts. Stiles' face was still turned towards me. I turned on the ignition and pulled away from what used to be the driveway. By then night had fallen and the snow fell thicker now, making me curse under my breath.

As soon as we hit a decent road, I knew I had a chance to save him. I tried my smartphone four times before I could finally make a connection and called my mother at the hospital, explaining her hastily what had happened. 'Drive immediately to the ER-bay,' she said, before adding, 'Are you alright?'

'Yeah, I'm fine,' I managed to say before I hung up. Then I called Stiles' dad.

It seemed to take forever to reach the hospital but in reality it was about twenty minutes, the twenty longest minutes of my life. At first I listened in silence to Stiles' difficult breathing. Then I asked him to talk to me, which he didn't do. Then I asking him to sing, which he couldn't. He did absolutely nothing but stare at me with such an intent gaze it made me want to cry. So instead of crying, I started singing. I sang the stupidest songs first, pouring them out of the history book of stupidest songs ever. I almost belted them, every tone so false it would send wolfs away howling. When I dared to look aside, I caught him grinning the stupidest grin ever.

'Where the hell do you get these songs from?' he grunted between ragged, strange breaths.

'I am a walking music encyclopaedia, remember?' I said.

'You are the worst singer ever.'

'And you are the worst, unappreciative audience ever.'

'Go play guitar or sit behind a drum, anything to spare us this ordeal but just shut up, man.' He said it with a sense of laughter in his voice and I just grinned, happy to have him back for just a moment, knowing this wouldn't last for long.

When his eyes drooped, I shook him awake frantically. 'Stay with me, man, come on.'

He just smiled and muttered something I couldn't comprehend. I think he might have said I was an asshole for keeping him awake. When I touched his arm, just above his broken wrist, the pain radiated from his very form. I swallowed away my fears and cursed myself. I was an asshole for doing this to him.

As we drove through the town centre and found ourselves surrounded by traffic and people rushing through the snow, two police cars came speeding up from behind us, then passed us and cleared the way. With the police escort, we made it safely to the hospital.

To be concluded


	4. Chapter 4

Thank you to my readers! Thus ends my first Teen Wolf FF. Hope you enjoyed it, leaving feedback is very much appreciated!

Chapter Four

Stiles was very much awake when I parked his jeep before the ER-entrance. Five people came rushing out and immediately took charge. My mother was amongst them. She spoke to Stiles gently when they opened his door and prepared to move him out. She held his hand and told him what they would do. He was being lifted out of the car and placed gently on a stretcher, beads of sweat still covering his forehead. He grunted quietly while tears of pain escaped from beneath his closed eyelashes. His dad was there, parking his car next to the jeep and running to his son before he even decently turned off the ignition. He was shocked to see his son in this state and I couldn't blame him. The last time he had seen Stiles like this, was when he was sleepwalking and nearly wound up dead.

'I'm here,' he said gently. 'Stiles, son, you'll be fine.' I could hear his voice break, his hands shivered and his breath mixed with the icy cold air surrounding us. They immediately wrapped up Stiles in blankets, careful not to touch his damaged shoulder.

'Dad,' Stiles just whimpered, his eyes drooping. This time it wasn't me asking him to stay awake, my role of caretaker being lifted off me like a heavy weight. My shoulders actually sagged with relief. As they hurried him inside, I moved besides the stretcher, pacing my speed with its rolling wheels. Stilinski stared at me gratefully. I had told him the truth and he now told the medical staff Stiles had been pushed out of a window by a homeless guy living in the old factory. The rest spoke for itself, there was nothing supernatural about Stiles' injuries, nothing to explain.

'We're here, Stiles,' I soothed and placed my hand on his upper arm. Even that feather light touch hurt like hell. His eyes, whenever they opened, spoke of the enormous pain that coursed through his entire body without any mercy. I took away some of his pain but not enough.

'Get him on drugs,' I begged, almost desperate. 'He's suffering.'

'The doctor needs to see him first,' my mother said. Stilinski followed her lead, barely hearing what I said as he preoccupied himself with calming his weakened son.

When they moved him into an ER-cubicle, I was pushed backwards but Stiles shouted my name so roughly, so filled with begging, I couldn't stay behind the curtain and forced myself back in. I saw them cut open what remained of his clothes, leaving him in a hospital gown they couldn't tie because of the glass in his shoulder. So they sort of placed it over him. Someone opened a pack containing a heating blanket that they placed over most of his body, someone else massaged his legs and examined his feet. Fortunately he had been wearing warm winter shoes, his toes had withstood the cold. His fingers were blue, as were his lips. The pallor of his skin seemed to worry them the most. He started shivering like crazy while they tried to examine his broken ankle, wrist, pierced shoulder and tried to shove in an IV-needle, all at once. When a doctor examined the protrusion, Stiles seemed to freak out. Everyone was working on him at the same time and he just went crazy.

I could hear him mutter under his breath and just knew he was going to explode in a second. His dad was busy talking to another doctor and filling out the paperwork for the necessary surgery.

'Stop moving, Stiles,' the doctors said while the nurses tried to restrain him.

'No,' he whispered. 'No, no, no.' He closed his eyes, refusing to look at anything. My mother hovered over him, caressed his face and soothed him. I tried to move in and grab his attention but I couldn't. I stood and watched and felt horribly afraid.

Then I remembered. The last time he had been in a hospital, he had been taken over by the monstrous Nogitsune. He had lost control because he fell asleep, because he allowed himself to move his mind away from the NMR-machine he was lying in.

The needle moved past his skin, into his vein. And he flipped.

'No,' Stiles grunted, fighting off everyone and everything. 'Pull it out, pull it out now!'

'Stiles, calm down,' one of them said.

And he pushed the woman who said it away and tried to slide off the bed, crying out in horrid pain as he did so. It took three of them to stop him from falling on the ground and as they lifted him back up, I moved forward and shouted off the top of my lungs, 'Stop. STOP IT!'

Immediately the entire cubicle went calm and everyone, including Stiles, stared at me in shock. For a moment I was horrified that I might have used my werewolf groan, but they were just startled by my anger. Stilinski immediately seemed to understand what I was about to say and grabbed his shaken son's hand, calming Stiles down with the slightest touch of his fingers.

'Stiles is in pain,' I explained. 'He has panic attacks. He was just pushed out of a window. Stop this chaos and do one thing at a time, please! He can't stand all of this.'

Then my gaze went to Stiles and I just knew something was wrong. He closed his eyes without as much as a sigh and went out like a light, finally losing the battle. Immediately everything went crazy. The medical staff ignored Stilinski and I. I heard something about an artery being nicked and then they were out of that room with him, leaving us frantically behind.

I sunk down on a chair and buried my face between my hands, imagining the surgery they were going to perform on him. I could see in my mind's eye how they would pull out that shard of glass, releasing it from his chest with a sickening pop, coming out in one large piece. His blood would pour out of him and they would have to repair the damage done, fighting to save him, to repair the artery and the muscles attached to his shoulder.

I felt my mother's hand on my back and then, when she held onto me, I burst into tears. Stiles' blood had dried on my hands and she wiped them gently with a wet piece of cloth. Stilinski sat down quietly next to me and waited with me. Lydia, Malia and Kira came too and did the same because it was all we could do. Lydia's large eyes were scared, she could sense death nearby and told me that it was touch and go. I wished she wouldn't tell me that but at the same time I was grateful for telling me the truth. Our care for Stiles, our descent into his mind, had bonded us more than ever.

It was ten P.M. by now and the hospital was still livid with people scattering the hallways. Friends from school came when they heard about it. Hell, even the coach came by, mumbling something with an emotional voice about not wanting to fill Stilinski's shoes at Lacrosse because he had this peculiar shoesize and nobody else could wear his shoes. I grinned, despite everything when Danny glared at Coach with a look in his eyes that could have had gods striking down on him. Derek came too, sitting down quietly next to me, offering his friendship without a single word, for which I was grateful. He always talked about Stiles as being a weak, pale, sickly looking human. How ironic that this was now truly so.

After hours, I stood, stretched my back and trembled. Trembled hard. Trembled as my entire body protested against the forced tears I had held within me. I was afraid. Horrified. I kept on seeing his body flying out that window, crashing on the cold winter's floor. I should have moved him faster. I should have done everything quicker. What if he died? What if I had done it wrong? What if I had taken his life by moving him? What if someone said to me, 'you should have sensed the other werewolf?' They were absolutely right, I was filled with grief at that exact moment, thinking only of what I had lost and didn't take care of my best friend. I hadn't even seen him go inside. He had left me alone, filled with guilt over Allison's death, something he was not responsible of in the first place. I hated myself.

I saw Kira before me through a blur of tears I didn't even know I was shedding. I stared at my hands and saw Stiles blood still lingering beneath my fingernails. I smelt his blood too, like a horrid smell, never to go away again. I felt a cry, raw like that of an animal in danger, burst out of me. I closed my eyes as dozens of tears flooded down my cheeks and my entire body shook and I covered my face with my hands so I smelt the blood even more. Kira grabbed me tight.

'You did great,' she said and so did Lydia and Stilinski senior.

'You saved his life,' my mom expressed.

'You did the right thing,' the doctor reassured me.

They all expressed it and I wanted to believe them. So I looked up and nodded and said that I was okay and shrugged them off.

Then the surgeon came and said he was going to be just fine. For the second time that night, my shoulders sagged and another burden was lifted off my shoulder.

He was going to be fine, he was going to be okay.

He had to be okay.

Later, we sat together at Stiles' bedside and someone shoved a cup of hot chocolate into my hands to warm me up. I drank it slowly, without tasting it and it replaced the scent of his blood. My eyes didn't leave the bed he was lying in, bandaged, hooked on machines and with his broken bones repaired. I sat at one side, next to Stilinski at one side of me, nearer to his son, and Kira at my other. Malia and Lydia sat together in unison, both staring at him because they had a bond with him. I realized just how loved Stiles was and it warmed my heart. Derek sat on the windowsill next to my mother who refused to go home without me. It was quiet in the hospital, peace entering this strange night.

'Humans are so frail without wings,' Derek said, breaking the silence, his eyes fixed upon Stiles' pale features. 'We often forget that, don't we?'

'They are strong in their own rights,' I replied, remembering how fierce Stiles had fought against his demon. 'Stiles is the strongest person I know, he proved that once again.'

His father looked at me gratefully because my words meant a lot to him. Nobody left that night as we waited until Stiles woke up, but he didn't. In the end, we all sort of fell asleep, leaning back in a discomforting position, waiting for the first words from Stiles' mouth.

In the morning I woke up to see two pigeons sit on the windowsill. Stiles wasn't awake and it worried me. The doctor came in and said he would wake when he was ready. He checked the bandages, the casts around his ankle and wrist and left us alone again.

We waited. Waited. Waited. It drove me crazy. It was all we could do. I refused to leave Stiles' bedside, to go to school and pretend everything was normal. Lydia didn't go away, neither did Malia. Kira's hand seemed plastered to mine. Stilinski snored when he slept. Derek took care of us all and brought in food. My mother worked and popped in whenever she could. Another day passed and now the doctors were concerned now too. They ran some tests on his head, pushed him into a scanner and waited for the results. Nothing came up, he just wouldn't wake.

Lydia whispered words into his ear, his dad spoke to him about stupid things and Derek brought in some more food.

When the evening fell and we all sort of dozed off again, I almost fell off my chair when I made a weird move in my sleep. I looked up to find Stiles staring directly into my eyes. I almost fell of my chair right there and then for the second time, shoving it backwards so quickly the entire room woke startled. Stiles stared past me at the pigeons on the windowsill, still there despite the darkness, with their white feathers bright against the moonlight and then he stared back at me again.

'You did it,' he just said, almost surprised. 'You saved me.'

I stood and grabbed his hand and felt that the pain was gone.

'Yeah,' I grinned goofily, 'I did.'

He sniggered. 'You still sing like crap though.'

'I know,' I replied with a grin.

The End


End file.
